


My Mom Was Gone

by Bluewolf458



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7147589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Bluewolf458
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to Jim's mother?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Mom Was Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sentinel Angst themefic, 'Jim's mother'

My Mom Was Gone

by Bluewolf

"It's all your fault that Jimmy's a freak!" The anger in William Ellison's voice would have had any of his employees wetting themselves in terror.

Grace Ellison, however, was made of sterner stuff. "Jimmy isn't a freak! So he can hear better than most and he has perfect vision - that doesn't make him a freak! You're just jealous that he can see better than you can!"

"Better than most? And the things he claims he can see - nobody could see that much, even with perfect vision! He's just making things up! And you don't help by saying you believe him! No son of mine is going to grow up a liar!"

"Making things up isn't the same as lying, and you know it!"

"Anyone who consistently makes things up, who doesn't live in the real world, is a freak and a liar!" William's voice was vicious.

"So do you wish he'd never been born?" Grace spoke surprisingly quietly, and the change in her voice pulled William up.

He was silent for a moment, then said, also more quietly, "Sometimes I do. I worry that he'll encourage Stevie to start fantasizing too, start claiming that he can see and hear impossible things."

"I'm quite sure Jimmy does see and hear things we can't. Saying that seeing really well is a fantasy is like someone who's color blind claiming that there are no such colors as red and green!" Grace's voice was getting strident again.

"That's just being stupid!" William snarled. "God, 20/20 vision is the most acute there is, and there are damn few people who see that well! Anyone who claims to see better than that is fantasizing, lying, trying to get attention, but even if he did see and hear that well, no son of mine is going to get attention through being a freak! Who can ever respect a freak? Attainment and accomplishment through hard work - that's the only way to get money, and money is the only way to get respect!"

"Do you hear yourself? There are plenty of ways to get respect, but cutting other people's throats to get more and more money? Yes, having plenty of money might make people envy you, but do you really think it makes them respect you? And does it make you happy? Always having to watch your back in case someone else is trying to sneak up to cut <i>your</i> throat? There's a point where having plenty of money becomes having too damned much!"

***

Grace was sitting in the dining room when six-year-old Jimmy went into it just before 7.30 the next morning. She was trying to look cheerful, but knew she'd failed when he went straight to her instead of to his usual seat. "Mom? What's wrong?"

She caught him in a fierce hug. After a few moments, she relaxed her grip a little. "Jimmy, will you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Look after Stevie for me?"

"Mom, of course I will! But why...?"

"And... stop trying to tell your father how much you can see and hear? He doesn't believe you, and it upsets him to think you're lying about it."

"Mom, I'm not lying, or just thinking I'm seeing and hearing things from a long way away."

"I know, Jimmy, I believe you, but your Dad doesn't, and if you keep on insisting, he'll start punishing you for 'making things up', for not living in 'the real world'. And... and I won't be here to try to stop him. Jimmy, I'm going away, and I won't be coming back. I don't know if I'll ever see you again. I don't really want to leave you, I wish I could take you with me, but you'll be better here with your Dad."

The door opened and, thinking that it was his father, Jimmy tried to pull away, knowing that William Ellison didn't think open displays of affection, even between parent and child, were 'manly' behaviour. But it was Sally who entered, bringing in breakfast... for two.

As he took his place at the table, Jimmy looked at his mother with puzzled eyes. "Where's Dad?" he asked after Sally left. Sally, he knew, would now be getting Stevie up, washed and dressed, before giving him his breakfast in the kitchen.

"He had breakfast early, and he's gone to work." She began eating.

Jimmy ate a few mouthfuls, then said, "Mom?"

"Yes, Jimmy?"

"Why are you leaving? And where are you going?"

"I'm not sure where I'm going. Why?" She shook her head. "Your Dad and I... he told me last night to get out. To leave, to be away before he gets home from work tonight. I suppose I'm lucky he didn't just kick me out in the middle of the night." The last was said so quietly that if Jimmy hadn't had such good hearing, he wouldn't have heard it.

"Can't I go with you? Me'n Stevie?"

"I'd love to take you with me, Jimmy, but even with how he feels about your... what he calls your fantasies, your Dad won't let you go with me. If I try to take you, no matter how much you say you want to go with me, your Dad will tell the police I kidnapped you and if you keep on saying you wanted to come with me he'll insist it's just another fantasy that I persuaded you was real."

"Will we ever see you again?" Jimmy sounded unhappy. He had already forgotten his mother's earlier comment on the subject; coming as it did after 'won't be coming back' he hadn't fully registered it.

"I don't think so. It wouldn't be a good idea... at least not until you're eighteen. Once you're eighteen you really will be grown up. But until then you have to do what your Dad says." She was silent for a moment. "Jimmy - don't tell your Dad I said anything about leaving. You can ask him where I am, when I'm not at dinner tonight, and he'll probably tell you that I walked out. Whatever he says, seem to accept it. And don't say anything to Stevie - he's too young to understand." She got up, walked round the table to him, kissed his forehead and walked out.

He stared at the closed door for a minute, then forced down the last of his breakfast.

***

Grace had spent part of the previous night, after William had yelled his ultimatum and stormed out of the room, packing a medium-sized suitcase, mostly with clothes but also making room for one or two other items - a rare candid photo of her sons playing (William had mostly insisted on carefully posed 'look how well behaved we are' photos), a small ornament that Jimmy had given her the previous Christmas, three much-loved books, some pieces of jewellery she had inherited from her now-dead mother (but nothing William had given her).

The only clothes she took were ones that she had bought with her own money - although she didn't have a fraction of the money William did, she had her own bank account, still in her maiden name of MacDonald, that held the money she had inherited from her deceased parents, as well as the money she had saved from the generous allowance they had given her when she was growing up. It was enough to give her a comfortable life. She might choose to find a job to fill her days, but she didn't need one as long as she wasn't spendthrift - and she had never been spendthrift.

Despite William's growing fortune, sheer pride had demanded that what she bought for herself she paid for out of her own money; the only clothes she had bought with William's money were the expensive designer ones he expected her to wear to social events. Some of the other wives she met at those events wore similar clothes at all times. In her everyday life she preferred to wear something simpler... and much cheaper. She considered designer clothes were far, far more expensive than they needed to be... and also that they were often a well-applied exercise in bad taste.

And William, she knew, was appalled by her preference for simplicity, for clothes that allowed her to remain unnoticed in a crowd.

Well, from now on she could please herself!

Now she went to her bedroom, put on a coat and retrieved her suitcase. She took one last look around the room, wondering if there was anything still in it that she would regret leaving, decided that there wasn't and walked out.

She had already called for a cab to pick her up at 8.15; she waited just inside the gate for it, not wanting to attract the notice of any inquisitive neighbors, and when it pulled up she picked up her case and walked out of the gate.

It took her to the bus station.

Once there she walked briskly to the destination board and stood looking at it while she finally decided where to go.

She had always loved the ocean, and considered the various coastal cities available - well, Everett, Tacoma or Seattle could hardly be called 'coastal' although they were on Puget Sound... Offhand she could think of nothing in Oregon. California? Well, there was San Francisco... Los Angeles - but Los Angeles didn't appeal. She remembered a childhood holiday in Santa Barbara, but would that remind her too much of her dead parents? Possibly.

Maybe, then, not a city. Maybe a smaller town.

Or no - William knew about her love of the ocean - if for any unlikely reason he wanted to look for her, it was the coastal towns and cities he would search first - or, rather, get his private detective to search.

Wait - there was a bus due to leave for Spokane in ten minutes. Yes - as a short-term destination that would do nicely. Once she was there she could take time to plan further.

Picking up her suitcase again, she headed for the Spokane bus.

***

She never reached Spokane.

Some fifty miles from the city, her bus was involved in an accident when a truck carrying a heavy load of timber crashed into it. There were four fatalities.

Identified as M Grace MacDonald from the bankbook in her purse, the police checked with her bank for an address. But she had never given the bank her Ellison address, picking up statements, etc, in person from the branch she patronized, and when the police checked the address the bank gave them, they learned that the MacDonald family had also been killed in an accident some three years previously. The current owners knew nothing about a Grace MacDonald.

She was buried in Spokane, the bank releasing enough money from her account for the funeral. And the rest of the money remained there, amassing interest, in case someone who could prove s/he was a relative did turn up.

***

Many years later, when he married, Jim discovered that his mother's maiden name had been MacDonald, and with Simon's blessing used police resources to try to find her. And because hers was a fiscal death, he did, surprisingly easily... and at the same time learned about her personal bank account, checked with the bank and, on confirming his identity, discovered that he was heir to a small fortune.

He did not at the time try to contact Stephen, who had no memory at all of their mother, though when they encountered each other later he did tell him, and transferred to him half of the money from her account. And bearing in mind what she had told him that last morning, he chose not to tell his father, either. But when he and Blair accompanied Simon to his school reunion at Rossberg, he took the chance to go on to Spokane and visit her grave to say his final farewells.

 


End file.
